


The Devil To Your Angel

by RainyDayDecaf



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Flirting, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Meet-Cute, Office Romance, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:07:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27294676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainyDayDecaf/pseuds/RainyDayDecaf
Summary: “Besides,” Crowley added, “I like your name.  Rolls off the tongue nicely.”“Oh?  Do you expect to be saying my name a lot in the near future?”They say that Heaven and Hell both work in the same office building.  In this particular office, Aziraphale is the receptionist who lives for the mornings when his new coworker stops by the desk to bring him coffee.  Which is basically every morning at this point.  Really, the dear man is nowhere near as subtle as he believes himself to be.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 47
Kudos: 246





	The Devil To Your Angel

**Author's Note:**

> Had a bad week, felt like writing something fluffy. Also I've been watching The Office and gushing at the cuteness that is Jim and Pam, so that might have influenced this a tiny bit.

For no reason in particular, Aziraphale checked the clock on the far wall of the lobby. 7:34 am.

The phone rang. Without taking his eyes off the front doors, he answered with practiced ease. “Messenger Services Incorporated. This is Ezra. How may I help you?”

7:35 am.

“...yes, let me put you through. Hold for one moment.”

The automatic doors slid open. Sandalphon walked inside, yawning loudly, and he was followed right after by Dagon and Beelzebub, who notably kept their hands entwined all the way to the elevator. Aziraphale made a mental note that he owed Tracy money for that bet.

7:39 am.

Michael, the executive director of the company, arrived next and strode across the lobby, heels clicking with every step and echoing imperiously in the wide open space. She was already on a call on her personal mobile and barely offered Aziraphale a nod in passing. Just behind her came Gabriel, the top salesman, who was far too bright-eyed for such an early hour of the morning. Aziraphale sometimes wondered if the man ever slept.

“Morning, sunshine! How’s it hanging?”

Aziraphale smiled politely in greeting and was saved from further conversation by the ringing phone. Gabriel’s constant exuberance had been tolerable for the first week or two, but now after three years of working together, it was A Bit Much to deal with day after day. And there was just no nice way to tell someone “your personality makes me uncomfortable” so Aziraphale had taken the tactic of looking busy whenever Gabriel walked into the lobby and hoping he would give up asking Aziraphale to join his team for drinks on Fridays. No, Aziraphale’s Friday evenings were strictly reserved for hot cocoa and competitive baking shows on the Netflix, thank you.

Once Gabriel had gone into the elevator with Michael and Aziraphale had finished with the call, he checked the clock. Again, for no particular reason.

7:44 am.

A flash of red just outside the window caught his eye. Aziraphale quickly suppressed the smile that wanted to break free and pretended to be typing something as the doors opened to admit _him._ The newest hire in the customer service department.

He swaggered in like a force of nature, red hair styled to perfection, stylish sunglasses in place, tie loose and shirt hopelessly wrinkled like he had just rolled out of bed. Aziraphale had no idea how he got away with looking so unprofessional, not even wearing a _jacket_ for Heaven’s sake. It must be one of those millennial fashion trends Aziraphale kept hearing so much about, like ripped trousers and man buns.

Their gazes met across the lobby, just like every morning for the past three weeks, and Crowley grinned and made a beeline for the reception desk instead of the elevators. In one hand was a well-used thermos that smelled very strongly of coffee, and in the other was one of those overpriced lattes from the Starbucks on the corner. The latte was set down by the keyboard where Aziraphale was dutifully typing gibberish.

 _“Hello,_ Aziraphale.”

“Anthony,” Aziraphale said warmly and picked up his drink with a grateful hum. “You know I’ve told you there’s no need for formalities. You can call me by my nickname, like everyone else does.”

“Where’s the fun in following the crowd, though?” Still smiling, Crowley slouched against the reception desk and took off his sunglasses. And, Lord help him, those brown eyes were just as lovely today as they had been the very first time Crowley walked in the doors. Aziraphale kept telling himself that it must have been his imagination or a trick of the light, that they couldn’t _possibly_ be so depthless and entrancing as he remembered, and every time he was proven wrong yet again.

“Besides,” Crowley added, “I like your name. Rolls off the tongue nicely.”

“Oh? Do you expect to be saying my name a lot in the near future?”

Those beautiful eyes flew _very_ wide open at that. Crowley stammered over a few syllables and took a big gulp from his thermos. “I, nrm… mmmaybe?”

Aziraphale smiled and said nothing, innocently sipping the overpriced latte that he would never have been able to fetch himself, being rather intimidated by the long lines and complicated menu. Crowley had heard him sighing and lamenting his desire for a pumpkin spice latte exactly _once_ and thereafter made it his mission to brave the throngs of uncaffeinated masses every other morning to fetch him whatever fancy drink his heart desired. Really, the dear man was nowhere _near_ as subtle as he believed himself to be. From Monday to Friday at 7:45 am precisely, Crowley was there at Aziraphale’s reception desk, pestering him for conversation, all but pulling at his pigtails until well past eight when he would suddenly notice he was late and run upstairs before his supervisor, Hastur, could tell him off. They had even crossed paths for lunch in the break room more than once, though it had been so crowded that they were reduced to meaningful looks across the table in place of overt flirtation.

Aziraphale mentally scoffed. Oh, just listen to himself! Obsessing over _meaningful looks_ like a common teenager. Crowley might just be the flirtatious type, someone who liked the attention wherever he could get it and had no intention of following up. At this stage, it was difficult to tell and foolish to get his hopes up. Maybe Aziraphale should just pluck up his nerve and ask him out, get it over with… but oh, if it turned out Crowley wasn’t really interested, then he would lose this delightful morning banter that made his work day so interesting...

The phone rang again, very inconveniently. He gave Crowley an apologetic look and picked it up. “Messenger Services Incorporated. This is Ezra. How may I help you?”

“Alright, that’s fine, just ignore me,” Crowley said, sighing mournfully and slumping on the desk. Aziraphale swatted at him gently and mouthed _don’t go anywhere,_ which made Crowley perk up, and he amused himself by playing with the basket of pens.

“Yes, of course, I would be glad to set up an appointment for you. Let me have a look at the schedule...”

When he went to set down the latte, he felt Crowley take hold of his wrist, and the scoundrel uncapped a pen and started drawing on the back of his hand. It looked like a smiley face with little devil horns. Aziraphale had to bite his tongue so he wouldn’t say something foolish like _I would prefer your phone number instead._

“Thursday, the seventh?” Aziraphale propped the phone on his shoulder and awkwardly tapped at the keyboard with one hand. “Yes, I have an opening at three o’clock. Shall I put you in for that time?”

An angel smiley face joined the devil on his captive hand. Aziraphale sincerely hoped the ink was permanent enough not to fade away the next time he washed his hands.

“Tickety boo, my dear, we’ll expect you then. Have a lovely day.”

Crowley snorted after Aziraphale hung up. _“Tickety boo?_ Nobody talks like that anymore. You couldn’t _pay me_ to utter those words.”

“That’s why they’re paying _me_ to utter them,” Aziraphale said. “And you’re being paid to tell customers where exactly they can shove their one-star reviews.”

“Ugh, if only! There was this one the other day, started going off about how _unhelpful_ I was and telling me to go back to wherever I came from. I said ‘sorry, Hell is full, you’ll have to call their customer service department’.”

“Did you _really?”_

“Oh no, I just gave him a discount and told him to recommend us to a friend.”

Aziraphale snickered, then had to hastily smother it when more employees walked in the door. Not that it _mattered_ if he and Crowley were seen together, they weren’t doing anything wrong, but Aziraphale had already been written up twice in the past year for reading a book at his desk. Uriel, the head of security, could see _everything_ on those cameras. He didn’t like to think of what Michael would say if he was caught socializing with a coworker while he was on the clock.

“Um, so,” Crowley said once they were alone in the lobby again. He twirled the pen in his fingers and didn’t seem to notice when some of the ink got on his sleeve. “I have, uh, something I wanted to tell you. Something important.”

Aziraphale turned to face him fully and hoped he didn’t look too eager. “Oh?”

“Yeah, so the thing is…” Crowley leaned in and lowered his voice. “...I’m not the person you think I am.”

Aziraphale froze up, alarmed by both the words and the tone with which they were pronounced. “What, what do you mean?”

“I’m a spy,” Crowley said, with utter sincerity. “For a rival company. They sent me here undercover to gather intel and make some trouble.”

Aziraphale blinked a few times. It sounded… well, utterly ridiculous. It couldn’t be true, but why would Crowley say such a thing? To test just how gullible he was? Had he misjudged Crowley’s character entirely?

But then Crowley winked. Very slowly and obviously.

Oh. Oh! So it was _that_ sort of game, was it?

“I see!” Aziraphale stood up and leaned in with a conspiring air. “Well. I do appreciate you coming clean and trusting me with such sensitive information.”

Crowley beamed in delight before he remembered to keep up the Enemy Agent act. “Eh, what can I say? You’re my friend, I just couldn’t bear to lie to you anymore.”

“But now, this leaves me in a predicament,” Aziraphale mused out loud. Probably more theatrically than the situation called for. “Aren’t you at all concerned I might nip upstairs to Michael’s office and give away your secret? I _am_ a loyal worker to this company, it would only be my duty…”

“Oh, you won’t tell anyone.”

“Oh, _won’t_ I?”

“No, you won’t, because this is a rare opportunity for you. A chance to do a little spy work of your own in return. Your bosses would love you for it.”

“Mm, that does sound… thrilling,” Aziraphale said. Their hands were right next to each other on the desk, and he let his fingers brush against Crowley’s, a bold move that had his heart pounding madly and made Crowley blush to the roots of his hair. “But I fail to see how it would work. After all, you would know exactly what I'm up to from the start.”

“Y… Yeah, funny thing about spies,” Crowley said, admirably recovering his composure with minimal stuttering. “Most enemy agents back in the day actually had little arrangements with each other. To share information, lend a hand when needed, that sort of thing. Much more civil than trying to kill each other. I’m saying, er, we could have that. You and me.”

The phone rang. Aziraphale hit a button to send it straight to voicemail. “So with this arrangement,” he said, “we would meet with each other on a regular basis. Ideally outside of work so no one suspects us...”

Crowley nodded. “In public places, obviously. Restaurants, museums, theatres. Got to make it look casual.”

“And if anyone asks, we simply say…?”

“We bumped into each other. Casually.”

“Or we could say that we’re seeing each other,” Aziraphale said. He employed a bit of a dirty trick and licked his lips coyly. “On an… intimate basis.”

Crowley’s elbow knocked into the pen basket and sent the pens scattering on the floor. “Oh shit, sorry—!”

“No, not to worry, I can—”

Aziraphale came around the desk and knelt down to help Crowley gather up the pens. They both ended up with a bouquet of pens, trying to awkwardly hand them to each other, and Aziraphale got a bit lost looking into Crowley’s eyes again.

“I should warn you,” Aziraphale murmured, “I’m a rather expensive date.”

“Never thought for a minute you weren’t,” Crowley said huskily. “Knew what I was getting into from the beginning.”

“Well. Good, then. We have an understanding.”

Someone cleared their throat.

Aziraphale jumped and looked around, suddenly aware of exactly where he was. In the middle of the lobby at his place of work, in full view of the elevators and the front doors, not to mention the _cameras._ And seated in one of the waiting room chairs was a customer that Aziraphale had utterly failed to see walk in. Judging from the sly smile, she had been there for quite some time.

“Oh, don’t mind me, loves. Finish your flirting. I’ll wait.”

Aziraphale leapt to his feet. So did Crowley, who dumped the pens in the basket and cleared his throat. “So! Um, pick you up after work?”

“Yes!” Aziraphale smoothed out his waistcoat, trying in vain to regain his professionalism. “Yes, that sounds lovely! Speaking of, I’d better get back to…”

“Uh huh, me too. Later, then. Ciao.”

“Hasta la vista,” Aziraphale blurted out and physically cringed when Crowley did a double take on his way into the elevator. The doors closed before he could see Crowley’s reaction, and Aziraphale retreated to the relative safety of the reception desk, groaning into his hands.

The customer approached his desk. “I have an appointment at eight o’clock?”

“Yes, so very sorry, let me check. What is the name?”

“Agnes Nutter.” The woman eyed him shrewdly. “You’re going to marry that man within the year.”

“I… _what?_ I beg your pardon, I hardly know that man!”

Agnes smiled. “Oh, trust me, I have an instinct for these things. He’s the devil to your angel, Aziraphale.”

“I’m sure,” Aziraphale said weakly. He signed the woman in and sent her on her way, more than a little flustered by the morning’s events. And it wasn’t even eight yet! For Heaven’s sake!

He looked at his hand, at the little angel and devil that Crowley had drawn for him, and huffed. Of course, that explained it. Agnes must have seen the doodle and decided to have fun with him. Tracy did the same thing sometimes, observing small details about a person and pretending to be psychic, for a party trick.

Well, in any case, Aziraphale resolved to say _no_ to any marriage proposals in the near future. Thus decided, he put the odd encounter from his mind and turned his thoughts to more pleasant things. Like his date (his _date!)_ tonight with Anthony Crowley.

* * *

_One Year Later_

The phone rang.

Aziraphale jerked awake from a dead sleep. “Messenger Services Incorporated,” he slurred. “This is Ezra, how may I help you?”

The blankets beside him stirred. Anthony poked his head into the open and yawned. “Blimey, you haven’t worked there since December. How’re you still doing that?”

Aziraphale blinked around at the dark bedroom, at his mobile on the bedside table that he had forgotten to turn off, and groaned as he rolled onto his back. “Sorry. Did I wake you?”

“Nah, angel.” Anthony yawned again and nestled closer, pressing a kiss to the hollow of his throat. “Go t’sleep. Going on our honeymoon tomorrow.”

Aziraphale smiled, heart fluttering at the reminder, and wrapped his beloved Anthony up in his arms. As he began to drift off again, surrounded by the warmth and scent of his lover, his _husband,_ he had the vague sense that he had forgotten something. But whatever it was, it slipped away before he could quite grasp it.

No matter, he thought. Maybe it would come to him in the morning.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] The Devil to Your Angel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27571918) by [SkyAsimaru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyAsimaru/pseuds/SkyAsimaru)




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